


After the War

by ant5b



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: M/M, what do you mean launchpad and penumbra interacted I have no memory of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 19:51:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20626619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: Launchpad searches for Drake in the aftermath of the invasion.





	After the War

With the mansion serving as the city’s de-factor meeting place in the wake of the invasion, it was brimming with more people than had ever before set foot on the lawn of the richest duck in the world. Moonlanders freed former prisoners in the midst of delivering profuse apologies and into the air rose the cries of friends and family members as they found one other and exchanged tearful embraces. A week had gone by since Lunaris and his army invaded, and the world that had been left behind felt fragile in a way it hadn’t before. Before they knew that their planet could be turned into a frozen wasteland to be propelled around the moon to satisfy a madman’s inferiority complex. Before they learned how fallible they all were in the face of a force so much stronger than them. 

Launchpad wasn’t thinking about any of that he let himself by carried by the sea of people moving across the grounds, looking over the heads of strangers in the hopes of finding a familiar face. His family was already gathered near the fountain with the rest of their previously imprisoned allies — or rather, most of them. The one who others considered easy to ignore, the opposite of a threat, and a nuisance. Hardly anyone even knew who he was talking about when he asked but for Launchpad, Drake’s absence had been glaring. 

The last time he saw Drake he was still dressed in Highlander regalia, beaten black and blue as he fended off an incoming Moonlander battalion and urged Launchpad to find Scrooge and get themselves to safety. Launchpad didn’t want to leave him, it was in fact the  _ last  _ thing he wanted to do, but Drake had looked back at him and smiled, every bit the reassuring hero he dreamed of becoming. He winked at Launchpad with his black eye already purpling, before launching himself at the incoming Moonlanders with a triumphant cry. 

But days went by without any contact, and as Duckburg froze over and a plan to save their planet proved ever out of reach, Launchpad’s worry and helplessness buried themselves deeper and deeper into his heart.

Now he didn’t bother to hide it as the crowds ferried him to the furthest corners of Killmotor Hill, and he called Drake’s name into the throng of strangers. But after half an hour all it had earned him was a handful of sympathetic looks and a handful of people who stopped him to give him the phone number for an emergency hotline that was keeping a record of all the people who’d gone missing in the invasion. 

Launchpad was getting desperate enough to search all of Duckburg himself, even without a single vehicle to his name. The limo was a burned out husk, he’d blown up the jeep as a distraction so he could meet Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley at Chums without being spotted, and the Sunchaser was in pieces on a deserted island somewhere. So he would search Duckburg on foot if he had to, he wouldn’t rest until he knew his — his friend was safe to get dangerous once more. 

He found himself near the triage tents, where the crowds were thinnest. The mansion had served as one of the largest jails for Duckburg’s citizens, and not everyone had come out of the invasion unscathed. With the mansion as the current base of operations it made sense to set up triage there, manned by doctors and nurses and kind-hearted volunteers. It was here that Launchpad, terrified, frantic, and lost, heard a voice that set his tilting world back onto its axis. 

“No, no, I’m  _ telling  _ you I’m fine. Better than fine, even!”

“Well, Mr. Wing, I don’t know how to tell you this but a concussion is actually the opposite of fine. Right there in the dictionary next to words like ‘stubborn,’ and ‘deluded’ and ‘suffering from head trauma, which is as bad as it sounds.’”

“That’s  _ Darkwing Duck.  _ It’s my  _ hero  _ name, not my actual name!”

Launchpad looked around wildly, his heart in his throat. The triage tents were brimming with people, but he had heard Drake’s voice so  _ clearly.  _

And there, a flash of purple. 

Drake was sitting on a cot in full Darkwing costume, looking every bit like he wanted to bolt but unwilling to do while under the glare of the nurse tending to him. His hat was lying beside him and his head was bandaged, but he seemed otherwise unscathed. 

If his heart could take wings Launchpad would be soaring, and he fought back a rush of relieved tears as he shouted, grinning elatedly from ear to ear, “DW!”

Drake’s head jerked toward the sound of his voice, and Launchpad watched his face first go slack with shock and then burst into an incredulous smile. 

“Launchpad?” he said, so quietly that it could be more easily read off his beak than heard. _ “Launchpad!” _

Drake launched himself off the cot without hesitation, leaving his hat behind, despite the nurse’s exasperated exclamation. He ran at Launchpad, only limping slightly, and Launchpad rushed to meet him halfway. 

They stopped once they were standing nearly toe to toe, breathless and staring at each other with matching grins, unwilling to do more than take in the sight of the other standing before them healthy and whole. Launchpad’s heart felt fit to burst, some mad emotion taking hold in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, if he even still had the capacity for words. 

Drake smiled up at him, a sight made more dear by their fraught days apart. 

“How’s it feel to have helped save the world?” he asked. 

Launchpad laughed, unable to restrain his joy no longer. He swept Drake off the ground in a hug that sent them spinning in place. “Almost as good as seeing you again does,” he said softly. He was rewarded by the sight of Drake’s blush and flustered stammering. 

“Yeah, well _ — _ well, you’re a sight for sore eyes too, big guy.” 

Launchpad went to put him back down, but was surprised when Drake’s arms remained wrapped around the back of his neck, his grip tight around the material of his jacket. 

“Drake?” Launchpad murmured, carefully touching his waist. 

“Sorry,” Drake said at once, quickly letting go. His hands instead drifted down to Launchpad’s collar, where they lay flat against the warm leather. “I just...I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Launchpad said at once, “but, y’know, about you.”

There was only a handful of inches between their beaks, and Launchpad was thrown back to five days ago when Drake fell into his arms on this very lawn, bruised and battered but shining brighter than Launchpad had ever seen him. Until now, that is, with his head bandaged and his black eye little more than a shadow, his costume standing out starkly against the brightness of the day. 

He hoped he wasn’t imagining Drake leaning forward too, what little space remained between them sparking electric. At least until a voice cut in between them snippily, and they jumped apart. 

“Mr. Wing, can I assume he’s with you?” Drake’s nurse asked, standing beside them with her arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. 

“Uh,” Launchpad stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “ Actually, we’re just _ — _ ”

“Yes,” Drake said without hesitation, and he reached down to thread his and Launchpad’s fingers together. When Launchpad turned to gape at him, he offered a blush and a small, hopeful smile that sent Launchpad’s heart beating double time. 

“Great,” the nurse said dryly. She looked at Launchpad. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything too strenuous the next few days, and keep him monitored. If his headache worsens have him take some basic pain relievers. And Mr. Wing,” she began, before tossing Drake’s hat in his face, “I think you forgot this.”

Drake sputtered, scrambling to catch his hat as the nurse walked away. He didn’t let go of Launchpad’s hand, so Launchpad reached out and righted Drake’s hat for him, hiding the crisp white of the bandages around his head.

“Thanks, LP,” Drake said, gifting Launchpad with a fond smile that made him want to swallow his tongue. 

“Uh, no problem, DW,” he replied, glancing away. “Actually, I was...well, I was wondering if you wanted to _ — _ to go out for coffee or something, when the city stops being so blown up.”

He risked a glance back in Drake’s direction and was awarded a pleased smile. 

Drake lifted their joined hands. “I go where you go, partner.”


End file.
